Perfect Chemistry

For the first time we’re having a civilized discussion. Now I’ve got to come up with something to break that defensive wall of hers.

Oh, man. I need to reveal something that makes me vulnerable. If she sees me as vulnerable instead of an asshole, maybe I can make some headway with her. And somehow I know she’ll be able to tell if I’m bullshitting.

I’m not sure if I’m doing this for the bet, for the chemistry project, or for me. In fact, I’m totally cool with not analyzing that part of what’s happening here.

“My dad was murdered in front of me when I was six,” I tell her.

Her eyes go wide. “Really?”

I nod. I don’t like talking about it, not sure I can even if I want to.

Her manicured hands cover her mouth. “I didn’t know that. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.”

“Yep.” It feels good to let it out, to make myself talk about it out loud. My dad’s nervous smile turning into shock right before he was shot.

Wow, I can’t believe I remembered the expression on his face. Why would his smile be replaced by shock? That detail was totally forgotten until now. I’m still confused as I turn to Brittany. “If I care too much about shit and it’s taken away, I’ll feel like I did the day my dad died. I never want to feel that way, so instead I make myself care about nothin’.”

Her face is full of regret, sorrow, and sympathy. I can tell it’s not an act.

Her brow is still furrowed when she says, “Thanks for, you know, telling me. But I can’t imagine you can actually make yourself care about nothing. You can’t program yourself like that.”

“Wanna bet?” Suddenly I’m desperate to change the subject. “Your turn to share.”

She looks away. I don’t push her to say anything for fear she’ll come to her senses and want to leave.

Could it be harder for her to share even a glimpse into her world? My life has been so fucked up, it’s damn hard to believe her life could possibly be any worse. I watch as a lone tear escapes from her eye and she quickly wipes it away.

“My sister—,” she starts. “My sister has ce re bral palsy. And is mentally delayed. ‘Retarded’ is the term most people use. She can’t walk, she uses what’s called verbal approximations and nonverbal cues instead of words because she can’t talk. . . .” With that, another tear escapes. This time she lets it fall without wiping it away. I have the urge to wipe them for her but sense she needs to be left untouched. She takes a deep breath. “And she’s been angry about something, but I don’t know what. She started pulling hair, and yesterday she pulled mine so hard a clump came out. My head was bleeding and my mom was freaking out on me.”

So that’s where the mysterious patch of baldness came from. Not a drug test.

For the first time, though, I feel sorry for her. I imagined her life as a fairy tale; the worst thing that could possibly happen would be a pea under her mattress keeping her up at night.

I guess that’s not the case.

Something is happening. I sense a change in the wind . . . a mutual understanding of each other. I haven’t felt this way in forever. I clear my throat, then say, “Your mom probably blows up at you the most because she knows you can take it.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. Better me than my sister.”

“It’s no excuse, though.” I’m being real now, and hope she is, too. “Listen, I don’t want to be an asshole to you,” I say. So much for the Alex Fuentes Show.

“I know. It’s your image, what Alex Fuentes is all about. It’s your brand, your logo . . . dangerous, deadly, hot and sexy Mexican. I wrote the book on creating an image. I wasn’t exactly aiming for the blond bimbo look, though. More like the perfect, untouchable look.”

Whoa. Rewind. Brittany called me hot and sexy. I was not expecting that at all. Maybe I have a chance of winning that stupid bet. “You do realize you called me hot.”

“As if you didn’t know.”

I didn’t know Brittany Ellis considered me hot. “For the record, I thought you were untouchable. But now that I know you think I’m a hot, sexy, Mexican god . . .”

“I never said the word ‘god.’ ”

I put my finger to my lips. “Shh, let me enjoy the fantasy for one minute.” I close my eyes. Brittany laughs, this sweet sound that echoes in my ears.

“In some deranged way, Alex, I think I understand you. Although I’m really pissed off at you for being such a Neanderthal.” When I open my eyes, I find her watching me. “Don’t tell anyone about my sister,” she says. “I don’t like people knowing anything about me.”

“We’re actors in our lives, pretendin’ to be who we want people to think we are.”

“So you understand why I’d freak out if my parents find out we’re . . . friends.”

“You’d get in trouble? Shit, you’re eighteen. Don’t you think you can be friends with who you want to by now? The umbilical cord’s been cut, you know.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Why do you want to know so much?”

“Aren’t chem partners supposed to know a lot about each other?”

She gives a short laugh. “I hope not.”

Truth is, this girl isn’t what I thought she’d be. From the moment I told her about my dad, it was as if her entire body sighed in relief. As if someone else’s misery comforted her, made her feel as if she wasn’t alone. I still can’t understand why she cares so much, why she chooses the I-am-flawless facade to show the world.

Looming over my head is The Bet. I have to get this girl to fall for me. And while my body says go for it, the rest of me is thinking You’re a complete bastard because she’s vulnerable.

“I want the same things out of life you do,” I admit. “I just go about them in a different way. You adapt to your environment, I adapt to mine.” I put my hand back on hers. “Let me show you I’m different. Oye, would you ever date a guy who couldn’t afford to take you to expensive restaurants and buy you gold and diamonds?”

“Absolutely.” She slips her hand out from under mine. “But I have a boyfriend.”

“If you didn’t, would you give this Mexicano a chance?”

Her face turns a deep shade of pink. I wonder if Colin ever makes her blush like that. “I’m not answering that,” she says.

“Why not? It’s a simple question.”

“Oh, please. Nothing about you is simple, Alex. Let’s not even go there.” She puts the car in first gear. “Can we go now?”

“Sí, if you want. Are we cool?”

“I think so.”

I hold my hand out for her to shake. She eyes the tattoos on my fingers, then extends her hand toward mine and shakes it, her enthusiasm apparent. “To hand warmers,” she says with a smile on her lips.

“To hand warmers,” I agree. And sex, I add silently.

“Do you want to drive back? I don’t know the way.”

I drive her back in comfortable silence while the sun sets. Our truce brings me closer to my goals: graduating, the bet . . . and something else I’m not ready to admit.

As I pull her kick-ass car into the dark library parking lot, I say, “Thanks for, you know, lettin’ me kidnap you. I guess I’ll see you around.” Taking my keys out of my front pocket, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to afford a car that isn’t rusted, used, or old. After I step out of her car, I pull out Colin’s picture from my back pocket and toss it on the seat I just vacated.

“Wait!” Brittany calls out as I’m walking away.

I turn around and she’s right in front of me. “What?”

She smiles seductively as if she’s wanting something more than a truce. Way more. Shit, is she gonna kiss me? I’m taken off guard here, which usually doesn’t happen. She bites her bottom lip, as if she’s contemplating her next move. I’m totally game to making out with her.

As my brain goes through every scenario, she steps closer to me.

And snatches my keys out of my hand.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” I ask her.

“Getting you back for kidnapping me.” She steps back and with all her might whips my keys into the woods.

“You did not just do that.”

She backs up, facing me the entire time, as she moves toward her car. “No hard feelings. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, Alex?” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

I watch in shock as my chem partner gets into her Beemer. The car drives out of the lot without a jolt, jerk, or hitch. Flawless start.

I’m pissed off because I’m going to have to either crawl around in the dark woods trying to find my keys or call Enrique to pick me up.

I’m also amused. Brittany Ellis bested me at my own game.

“Yeah,” I say to her even though she’s probably a mile away and can’t hear me. “Payback is a bitch.” ¡Carajo!